


The Weather Outside is Frightful

by zenelly



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 06:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenelly/pseuds/zenelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A silly little thing written in a few minutes for the DaveJohn Skype group!</p>
<p>
  <i>The first time you see snow, you leave the house, barefoot and dressed only in your pajama bottoms and a ratty t-shirt, to stand under the open sky and let it fall around you.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weather Outside is Frightful

The first time you see snow, you leave the house, barefoot and dressed only in your pajama bottoms and a ratty t-shirt, to stand under the open sky and let it fall around you. The snow is a light kiss on your skin, your eyelashes, and there's a strangely heavy silence that hangs around the ground, a quiet that is laden with moisture and wonder. Light glitters along the surface of the white powder, and its movement is entrancing.

There's a shadow in the light that falls from the kitchen window, and when you glance over, you catch John watching you from the relative comfort of the house. He holds up an empty mug and a jug of milk in an offer and you nod. You think he's offering to make you hot chocolate, but you're not entirely sure. You're a bit distracted by the huge white flakes falling from the sky. But you also can't feel your feet anymore (or anyhting now that you're paying attention again), so you think you might want to head back inside now.

John's waiting when you tromp back in, an amused grin on his face. "Lost feeling in your toes yet?" he asks, holding out a towel for you to dry off with. You hadn't noticed before that your shoulders, hell, all of you, is covered in a light layer of dew now, and you shiver. 

"I can't feel most of me, actually," you admit, and John rolls his eyes. 

"You dumbass. Come on, the milk's heating up."

You follow him into the kitchen, shivers beginning to tremor down your frame, and you sink onto one of John's stools, pulling the blanket around you in a pitiful bid for warmth. "Alright, I'm d-done with snow. Fuck, too cold. How do you deal with this every year?"

"Well, first off," John starts, stirring the milk on the stove, "I don't go tromping around in it with no shoes and only pajamas on. That's a good start."

You grin weakly up at him as your face pricks with the return of warmth. "But hey, you fucks get to have hot chocolate all the time, right? That's pretty sweet."

"Yeah, just don't go running around in the snow like that too much. Pneumonia isn't just a myth, you know." John leans over in his kitchen (and you really think it's funny how much he protests that he hates baking and yet he cooks all the time because "nothing ever tastes right if I don't make it Dave, stop making that face") and grabs the chocolate power, adding it in small doses to the milk. "Hm. Do you think cinnamon is a good-"

"Yes, put cinnamon in it."

John shoots you a grin. "Pushy." But he does as you ask and keeps stirring the milk. After a while, when your toes are beginning to return to the land of the aware in slow painful increments, he puts down a mug in front of you. "Don't gulp it. It's still a little hot."

"You're hot," you mutter, curling your cool hands around the mug, sighing at the endorphin prick of warmth coursing over you. "Mmmmm...."

John sits down across from you, still smiling as he sips at his own mug of hot cocoa. Under the table, your feet are nudged, and nudged again as John settles himself nearer to you, twining his legs with your own.

You raise an eyebrow. "You're in an awfully good mood. Who the hell bought you a vibrator and taught you how to use it?"

Snorting, John just rolls his eyes. "Christ, can't a guy just be happy that he has his boyfriend with him for Christmas?"

"No, absolutely not. You, sir, are committing a federal offense. Prepare to be handcuffed and violated."

"Whoops, sorry I'm breaking the rules then. I'm happy anyway."

You wink at him salaciously and sip your hot cocoa, muffling a moan as the sweet liquid warms your throat. "Your dick's about to be happier. Are you prepared?"

John leans back in his chair, an imperious smile canting his lips. "Oh really? What are you going to do, blow me under the table?"

"Maybe."

He blinks in surprise, but his smile doesn’t fade at all, and under the table, you can feel his legs shifting, probably spreading. “I’m waiting,” he says. 

You’re not about to wait for another invitation. Carefully putting your mug down, you slide down to the floor and duck under the table top, crawling over to kneel between John’s legs. You mouth up his thighs to his crotch, nuzzling the skin-warmed denim under your lips. “Excited?” you ask, and you’re only half-expecting the hands that curl in your hair for that.

“You’re not doing anything yet.” And John’s voice is carefully controlled. Fond, almost, and you smile to yourself before you reach up to undo his zipper.

“Patience, dude. I’ve been told it’s a good thing to be patient.”

“I’ve been told you’re good at giving head. Nothing backs either up yet, how about that.”

You pull his dick out of his underwear and he breathes out, slightly shaky; you lean down to lick it gently, pumping it with one hand while the other steals down to tease the crease of his thighs.

Well, now he’s certainly getting interested. You hum slightly, pull off his cock long enough to grin at John’s sharp intake of breath before settling back down, and fuck, you love feeling him get hard in your mouth. You start the slow, tortuous bobbing of your mouth that you know he likes, feel him grasp your hair tightly, and you moan again.

“You like it when I grab your hair, don’t you?”

Fuck.

If he’s going to dirty talk, you’re done for.

Apparently, John’s decided the same thing because the only thing he decides to do is to just hold your head and fuck up into your mouth with slow thrusts as you swallow around him. For untold minutes, you lavish attention on his cock, the wet noises of his dick in your mouth filling the otherwise quiet kitchen.

“You know,” John says, and he would be conversational except for how breathless he is. “My dad’s probably going to come home soon. We shouldn’t be here when he is.”

You pull back, breathe in deeply. Leaning more into his lap, you meet John’s eyes. “Your room?”

“Yeah. The sooner, the better, too. I want to fuck you.”

You totally don’t close your eyes as you get slightly lightheaded at the suggestion. No. That’s just because John stands up and you lose your balance before you crawl out from under the table. “Merry Christmas to me,” you mutter, and John grins at you over his shoulder as you head into his room and he pushes you onto the mattress.

“Merry Christmas, indeed,” John says against your lips.

.fin.


End file.
